Secret Identity
by SophieSaulie
Summary: A completely, fanciful story without any logic whatsoever so fair warning to suspend your disbelief and just let your imagination take over. It came as inspiration from watching WAY too many Man of Steel interviews.
1. Chapter 1

**Secret ****Identity**

**A completely fanciful story without any logic whatsoever so fair warning to suspend your disbelief and just let your imagination take over. It came as inspiration from watching too many Man of Steel interviews.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Chaos**

**Chapter 1:**

"No, no," Casey protested. "I'm not playing into his ego."

"Well, if you think about it, it really makes sense," Michael interjected.

"No, Michael, it's the opposite of making sense!" Casey insisted.

"Really? The constant banter? The poetry recitations? The encyclopedic knowledge of all things mundane and inane? Even **you** have to admit that some of them have really saved our asses -"

"I don't have to admit anything! All that proves is that he's an idiot!" Casey insisted again. "It doesn't mean he's...he's..."

"What?" Michael challenged.

"I can't even bring myself to say it," Casey said, dejected.

"A superhero?" Rick teased as he joined the conversation, a wide and broad smile on his face. "With legitimate super powers?"

"Superheroes don't exist. They're myths!"

"And someone called a 'human weapon' does?" Rick baited.

"Yes, because if there was such a thing as a superhero I'd be -"

"Wow. You really think highly of yourself, don't you?" Rick argued.

"If we're going to argue for Billy getting superhero status based on his ability to blather endlessly about absolutely nothing then, yes, I believe I qualify since I have subdued more than my share of combatants based on abilities that fit the bill WAY better than Billy's 'talents'."

"At best being cast as the human weapon is really just a title, isn't it? A moniker as it were, a mantle to place your homicidal proclivities upon," a voice with a Scottish accent piped in from behind Casey.

"I've pulled your ass out of the fire more times than my intelligence can fathom!"

"Perhaps on a physical level yes, but you have to admit that when it comes to the cleverness factor, I have you beat," Billy said. "You haven't a clever bone in your entire body."

"It doesn't make you a superhero," Casey said.

"I may not possess x-ray vision or fly like our beloved Superman, but I think that talking down a terrorist purely from reciting Hamlet's soliloquy is rather impressive, if I do say so myself. "

"Pffft...you just got lucky," Casey scoffed.

"I don't know," Rick said, sarcastically sounding dutifully impressed. "The terrorist almost became weepy from remembering his college years studying Shakespeare. It was his favorite play."

"Billy read the soliloquy! You don't need to be a Shakespeare scholar to recognize that and besides, he probably wanted to off himself hearing Billy drone on and on -"

"I'm right here, you know," Billy lightly protested. "I think you're just jealous and it doesn't become you, I must say."

"Jealous? Hardly," Casey said with a disparaging tone.

"Still, it worked. He talked the guy down from killing us," Michael said.

"Like I said, he was lucky," Casey insisted.

"Maybe a costume is in order? One worthy of my skills? A cape, perhaps? At the very least, I think I should get a right proper moniker befitting my powers."

Casey rolled his eyes.

"Now, you see what you've done? He's going to be insufferable until he comes up with a name-" Casey said almost more dejected than angry; they were warring for dominance.

"Oh, I'll come up with something, don't you worry about that, mate."

"I'm going to the gym. I really need to hit something and if I stay long enough, my fist **will** find your face."

"What? You're not going to help?" Billy asked feigning insult. "You wound me, sir."

"I'll do more than wound you all right. I'd rather be tortured than help you find a name."

Casey bolted off and the others had wide grins, trying to contain their laughter until he left.

"You do realize we are going to pay for this," Michael pointed out.

"We are right bastards, aren't we?" Billy said with a grin. "Most assuredly Casey will have his revenge. It's part of the fabric that is his own superpower. Likely it will be I who will be suffering the full force of his wrath, but I have to admit that it will have been worth it."

**ChaosChaosChaos**

Casey's cover had been blown sky high. If it were just about him, he'd be implementing his own brand of damage control, but the confrontation had been deliberately made in a public place, full of innocent bystanders. Even the great Human Weapon couldn't take down two assassins in a crowded courtyard. Too many variables. Too many opportunities for hostages and injuring others in the wake of a fistfight and that's if they chose to engage him in that way. It was just as easy to shoot him outright and not worry about whom else got caught in the crossfire. He knew what was coming next. They would lead him to a quieter location, not necessarily without spectators, keeping themselves embedded with the crowds to keep him cowed as well as at gunpoint then shank him efficiently for a swift and relatively soundless end with time to walk away calmly without garnering any suspicions.

Casey had never expected to be caught so off his game. If he were to be honest, he had to admit that he had been well played.

He knew that Michael, Billy and Rick had heard his warning signal - a word they had all agreed on- and were on their way, but Michael and Rick were on the other side of the mall, too far to get a visual on where Valdez and two of his bodyguards were leading him to get there in time and Billy, they were last with him so for all Casey knew they had made Billy first and he could be lying already dead somewhere. Casey sometimes hated that he could be so coldly logical in his calculations. It made delusion harder.

"Move quietly, yes? Or else we kill an innocent. Clear?" Valdez threatened.

"Crystal." Casey said with venom in his voice.

Still, he kept looking for opportunities. He wouldn't stop looking until he felt there was nothing more he could do.

Suddenly, he felt a jostle and a bump. At first, he thought it was just someone who had been texting and not watching where they were going, but then the head tilted up slightly, enough for him to catch a familiar sly grin as well as an impish wink.

Billy.

Billy quickly nodded a signal to Casey, telling him that he would soon be able to exact his revenge on his kidnappers. He then turned his attention to one of the bodyguards: The one who had his gun on Casey. Billy turned away from Casey. He tapped the bodyguard on the opposite shoulder, making him turn his body away from the line of sight of where Billy was.

"Pardon me, mate, but I fear that you have unfortunately chosen to ally yourself to the dark side and we superheroes just can't abide by that at all. Not at all," Billy said as he tsked in derision.

The man turned abruptly and gave Billy a quizzical expression, as if confused for a second. It was just the delay in reaction that Billy needed. He grasped the man's gun hand, pulled back his wrist, wrenching it so quickly and with such ferocity that the man didn't have any time to recover. The gun slipped out of his hand as if it were greased. Billy deftly caught it before it fell. He then punched the man so hard to the jaw, swinging his arm in a wide arc giving it maximum force that the man lost his balance and went down unconscious before hitting the ground. Casey took the opportunity to wail on the other bodyguard. The man dropped his gun, helpless to fight back against Casey's assault. Once he had been subdued, he clocked Valdez with minimal effort. The pent up rage and adrenaline fueled the punches.

There were gasps from the crowd as some dispersed to get out of harm's way and others gathered to watch the fight.

Billy saw that Casey had things well in hand with his own captor and had decided to address the crowd.

"No need to panic there, folks. We are Federal agents apprehending heinous criminals, bringing them to face proper justice. Go about your business with the knowledge that we have things well in hand," Billy proclaimed sounding like an announcer at a circus performance.

There was applause and Casey watched Billy smile and take a small bow.

Casey just glared.

Michael and Rick heard and saw the commotion and quickly joined them. They had just caught the bow and couldn't help but smile.

"Billy came to the rescue?" Rick teased as he gave Casey a look.

"I had a plan," Casey said defensively.

"Oh, come on, the least you can do is admit that I saved your bloody life," Billy commented.

"I was thinking about keeping the crowd safe first," Casey explained weakly.

"Right you are, a civilian's safety must be paramount," Billy said as he returned his own glare. "In a pig's eye."

Michael and Rick laughed as Casey straightened and shared his glare towards each of them.

"We've called in a cleanup crew," Rick interjected. "They should be here soon."

They would continue to maintain surveillance and security both for the integrity of the capture, but also for the safety of the bystanders until the cleanup crew got there, to take the men away for processing. Billy knew Casey would relish another confrontation so he was almost daring one of them to emerge from unconsciousness.

Billy made a visual sweep of the area. Valdez had a long reach as well as a wealth of compatriots who were committed to his cause and bidding. It wasn't beyond the realm of possibility that a trap was still in play, that Casey wasn't just the one intended target for revelation. Just before they had blown Casey's cover, they had met with Billy. It had felt off to him, but he couldn't pinpoint the reason, it was just well honed instincts. Why did Casey's cover become compromised and not his? And if he had been compromised, why hadn't they marked him for execution like that had done with Casey? It didn't make sense. None of it fit. Most importantly, why did Valdez leave himself so vulnerable if he suspected that CIA agents were playing him? The incongruities plagued Billy's need for explanations.

Instinct about the various facets of the job as well as trusting one's own probing, suspicious mind seeking logic to illogical situations came with training certainly, but Billy also believed that a person had to innately possess a kind of sixth sense for the work. Training could only go so far. Training could instruct you on what to look for, teach you to be alert about specifics, but in the end, how an agent processed every nuance of a situation, no matter how improbable, was what separated an average person from one honed into something almost supernatural in the fabric of the craft. The men of the ODS had their own unique, finely tuned "radar systems". Billy had always been particularly susceptible and talented in reading as well as anticipating people's motivations and by proxy the potential actions of the person he was analyzing.

Even though Valdez and his men had given no indications that his cover had been blown as well, Billy had picked up a non-specific tell that had raised his hackles. It was what had compelled him to tail them to the heavily populated mall. He had alerted Casey, but because of the strategically maneuvered location, Casey was helpless to do anything about it.

As Billy continued to scan the area, he felt that same eerily familiar blip in his radar. Again, non-specific, but he had learned not to ignore those blips, actionable or not. Something felt off. It was if there was a buildup of static electricity, primed for the perfectly timed spark to set off an explosive. Billy always felt frustration when this kind of "itch" rubbed him the wrong way like a wool sweater. It was why he was more of a vest man.

Michael watched Billy with apt interest. He knew he was analyzing the scene, perhaps even deconstructing it and could only wait for the anticipated assessment he knew was sure to come. He had learned over the years that disturbing a process whether it was a random thought or a developing analysis, his own included, was never a good idea. Once a train like that was derailed, there was no putting it back on the tracks, not until it was long past useful. So Michael watched and waited. There was something about Billy's expression, his posture that gave him a sense of wariness. He was in tune with his men. There was a trust that may have taken awhile to fully form and develop, after all, Billy wasn't wrong when he told Rick that he was a paranoid bastard, but once fully established, it was never questioned and to Michael's mind, he could never conceive of a situation where that trust would be summarily dismissed, let alone retracted.

Of course, there are always exceptions and anomalies like Carson. Michael could only rationalize that loss by attributing it to a protracted imprisonment changing the very essence of the man he once knew and for whom he had once placed his unwavering trust. Michael was good at rationalizing. He had rationalized his divorce from Fay.

He trusted the company of these men, their instincts in sync with his own so as he observed Billy clearly trusting his own gut and trying to fit intuition with hard evidence, he felt the same irritating incongruities that Billy was feeling. Billy was just better at following that trail and Michael let him.

As Billy turned his whole body in a circle, letting his gaze take in the skyline, scanning each building with as much scrutiny as he could given how overarching his surveillance goal was, that tickle, that "sixth sense" of his kept gnawing at him.

Something felt wrong to Billy and it was evolving into something dangerously wrong the longer they lingered.

It was then that Billy spied a glint, a flash in the distance, something that someone else would have dismissed as sunlight catching a glass window, but not Billy. He instantly knew that it wasn't just sunlight. He knew what was going to happen next. He couldn't tell angle, distance or intended target, but he knew the flash of a sniper's scope when he saw it.

"Sniper! Everyone down!" He yelled.

At that moment, multiple shots rang out, dispersing the crowd into a screaming flurry of escape patterns. At first the shots seemed random, not hitting anything. Michael tried to observe, but all he could see from his vantage point was hurried feet as he ducked and dodged aimlessly, realizing that escaping a well-targeted sniper's bullet was pointless, but the flight mechanism automatic. Casey, also, was caught off guard, his instinct was to check on the downed bodyguards, but he was then suddenly broadsided by what felt more like a tackle from behind. The momentum was too strong to counteract and gravity pulled him down to the ground, hitting it with a force that bracing with his hands couldn't cushion.

The shots continued for a few more seconds, but then stopped as suddenly as they had began. The men were left abandoned, sprawled on the ground as spectators, shoppers and others cleared the area around them, running to some kind of safe haven.

Michael was the first to tentatively rise from the ground. He quickly surveyed the situation and then spit out a curse. Though Valdez's bodyguards were still prostrate on the ground, Valdez was nowhere to be found, lost in the scurrying crowds.

It had been a diversion.

His indignation was short-lived though because when he continued his visual assessment, first determining that Rick was fine as he stood up as well, his gaze then spied and rested at Billy's body draped over Casey, looking as if he had tackled him. Rick then caught the same view.

"Get off me!" Casey protested, but Billy didn't move right away, instead he groaned.

Michael noticed a red stain underneath Casey's mid to lower back, spreading quickly across the area. He went over quickly to Billy's side.

"Wait, Casey, don't move. Billy's been hit."

Casey understood and he laid still. He began to feel wetness permeate through his jacket and onto his shirt beneath. It gave him a chill because to get through all that fabric so quickly meant Billy was bleeding profusely.

Michael and Rick carefully and slowly peeled Billy off of Casey, all the while, Billy hissed, moaned and grunted. Then they saw the huge and growing red stain on Billy's chest and stomach, the one, there, darker, more drenched through his vest. Casey then turned and got up to see what was happening. The visage froze him.

Billy smiled in pain, his breathing ragged as he uselessly placed his hands over his stomach where the pain was located, trying to staunch the blood flow, but growing weaker with the attempts, his hands, shaking, finally surrendering, letting them to his sides.

"Perhaps...someone like Batman then...no superpowers at all...just a man...with all too human vulnerabilities, aye?"

Billy then groaned again.

"Could have...used his bullet proof armor...right about now."

He then lost consciousness.

Casey's body went rigid from shock and icy dread. He heard Rick frantically call for EMS. He then broke through his semi-shocked state and bent down to assess Billy's injury in the hopes that it wasn't as bad as it had looked.

Michael watched as Casey rushed into action. He knew this was Casey's coping mechanism, busying his mind with actions so emotions had no way in. He was also trained as a field medic. If there was anything that could be done to help Billy, Casey could do it with nothing more than spit and bailing wire under the worst of conditions. If anyone could save Billy or keep him stable, it would be him. Casey first checked for a pulse and was relieved to find one, if weak and thready.

"He's alive," Casey declared with clinical assurance.

"I've called 911. EMS is on the way," Rick said, not particularly to answer Casey's declaration, but to make one of his own. Panic was settling in quickly so it was all he could muster with any kind of coherence.

Casey began unbuttoning Billy's coat. He had to see the wound for himself, hoping to assure himself in the only way he could accept, with facts seen by his own eyes. But Casey was a stoic pragmatist. He knew he was only fooling himself into that thread of hope. He wasn't a hopeful man. He gleaned any sense of positivity from Billy. There was annoyance at Billy's ability to see the world so certain in finding a silver lining in the bleakest of situations, no matter how illogical, but there was also envy because Casey felt incapable of that kind of delusion. Still, at that moment, he was desperately trying to find it in him.

Once the coat was opened, he then went to work on the vest.

"Damn it, Billy," he cursed as his fingers fumbled the buttons, his calm resolve slipping as his grasp was against the slippery, blood coated buttons.

Michael saw the cracks emerging in Casey's seemingly impenetrable center and knowing that words meant nothing to Casey he quietly took over and began unbuttoning the vest for him to assist. Casey allowed him to help and moved away to recapture control. Michael, when he had finished with the vest, didn't bother with working the shirt buttons and in an act of expressing his own helplessness, he ripped the shirt open, buttons flying off in every direction.

"He'll make you pay for that," Casey said, his voice, steady, but soft.

"I'll tell him EMS-" Michael said, but his words were cut off in mid-sentence as his eyes caught the gaping wound just below the rib cage.

Proximity, velocity, even wind speed could determine the accuracy of a sniper's bullet. With the proper skill and perfect conditions, a shooter's bullet could tear a body apart, blow through a skull and scatter grey matter out an exit wound, or kill a person outright. In contrast, any slight variation of those conditions could turn a perfect shot into a haphazard one, causing injury, but not death or miss an intended target entirely. The fact that Billy was still alive was more than just lucky, but if you saw the wound that the bullet had left in its impact to Billy's body, you'd question that luck. Michael and Casey didn't know whether to be relieved or shocked. At the moment, they'd probably say they were feeling both. It was Casey, though, who broke from his horror, taking off his jacket immediately and pressing it against Billy's wound in a desperate attempt to staunch the blood flow. The jolt of pain brought Billy back to consciousness. He arched and meekly tried to jerk away, but the weakness from blood loss and pain was making any attempts at movement meager at best.

"Don't," Billy moaned.

Casey stiffened, a look of guilt on his face, but continuing to press on the wound. Michael caught the conflict.

"Sorry, Billy, but we have to try to slow the bleeding down as much as we can until EMS gets here," Michael explained.

"They're on their way," Rick piped in.

Billy scanned his friends' concerned faces and smiled shakily. His breathing was more choking whispers laced with effort and agony.

"Right, I...I clearly...do not possess the super human pain tolerances of...our human weapon here..." Billy teased.

"Just shut up and rest," Casey said, his expression barely holding back his pent up anxiety.

Billy trembled and the men worried he was falling into shock.

"I...I'm...sorry..." Billy said as his body slowly began releasing its tension and started to fall lax. "Not a superhero...after all, aye?"

Casey's posture did the complete opposite. It went rigid, like a string pulled to the limit of its tensile strength.

"No, no, you don't. You don't get to die on me! You hear me? You're not going to die!" he yelled as he checked for a pulse again, barely feeling it under his fingertips. "Where are those EMTs?"

Just as he uttered those words they were approached by rushing medics, arms filled with medical supplies.

Casey found himself riveted in place. He knew he had to get out of their way so that they could help Billy, but his hands holding his jacket against Billy's wound seemed frozen, afraid that once he let go, Billy would bleed out. He knew it was irrational. He was the most rational member of the ODS, but at that moment, he was feeling anything but rational.

Michael watched Casey's uncertainty, a condition he thought the human weapon was incapable of being, and placed a hand on his shoulder. Casey jerked in recognition of the touch then turned to look at Michael.

"Let the EMTs take over, Casey. You've done all you can for Billy."

Casey took in a breath then gave Michael a barely detectable nod as he stood up to give the EMTs clearance.

The hurried actions of the medics working on Billy were both awe inspiring and terrifying. They checked vitals with lightening speed, hooked up a heart monitor and placed an oxygen mask over Billy's nose and mouth.

Casey was the stoic one, the one his team turned to for logic, reason, cold-blooded physical altercation, but he was also a certified field medic. He understood what the EMTs were doing, could read the information they were getting and comprehend what was happening to Billy.

Billy was bleeding out and was likely not going to make it to a hospital. His blood pressure was dropping, his heartbeat erratic, stuttering towards v-tach. Casey knew Billy needed a transfusion just to keep his heart pumping.

"You'll need to do a field transfusion or he's going to die," Casey declared pragmatically to the EMTs.

"Sir, just let us do our job -"

"I'm a certified field medic, I've been in situations you could never imagine and I'm telling you he is bleeding out. If we don't do something right now, he's NOT going to make it to the hospital."

The EMTs fell silent for a second, unable to dispute Casey's assessment.

"You know I'm right. He needs a direct transfusion to get him to the hospital ALIVE! I know how to do it and I'm the same blood type," Casey commanded. "The longer we waste time discussing it, the more useless the transfusion is going to be and my...friend will die. I'm going to do this with or without your help so don't bother arguing. He doesn't have the time for debate."

Michael and Rick watched, riveted by Billy's perilous condition and Casey's focused determination.

"We need to get authorization -" one of the medics started to say.

"Do what you have to, but I'm not waiting. I need your help. You!" Casey said as he pointed to other medic. "Have you ever done a field transfusion?"

"No, I've only read about them in medical books," the medic said nervously.

"First time for everything. Get Billy on the gurney and inside the bus," Casey said as he then turned to Michael and Rick. "I have to do this."

No more words had to be said. Michael and Rick just nodded in agreement, implicit trust in their expressions along with terror.

Once Billy was in the bus, Casey climbed in behind. The doors closed and the ambulance rushed off. Michael told Rick to meet them at the hospital as he still had to wait for Valdez's bodyguard to be taken in custody and that he would catch up. Rick nodded.

A pall of uncertainty palpably draped over them.

**ChaosChaosChaos**

Rick arrived shortly after the ambulance had at the hospital. It was empty and the mess of medical supplies like syringes, gauze, and plastic wrapping littering all over the floor of the ambulance projected an intimidating aura that a struggle for life had been waged in it. What made Rick's stomach roil were the copious amounts of blood spilled, pooled and mixed in with the medical debris.

He walked into the ER and spotted Casey looking dazed, an expression that Rick had never seen on the man. That only gave Rick a foreboding that the outcome of battle in the ambulance may have had serious casualties. The metaphor was weighing too heavily on him. He also noticed that Casey had a bandage around his right elbow. Rick guessed that it had something to do with the field transfusion.

He walked up to Casey, fearful of startling the human weapon. A sudden defensive outburst could land Rick in the hospital joining Billy.

"Casey?" Rick said softly as he approached warily. "Are you okay?"

Casey broke out of his distracted state, turned his head to look at Rick. The disheartened expression that met him gave Rick a chill.

"I...I don't know if it was enough."

A sobering admission by the human weapon.

**TBC. Thanks for reading**


	2. Chapter 2

**Secret ****Identity**

**A completely fanciful story without any logic whatsoever so fair warning to suspend your disbelief and just let your imagination take over. It came as inspiration from watching too many Man of Steel interviews.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Chaos**

**Chapter 2:**

To call Billy's condition as grave seemed to be grossly understating the obvious. It was one of the descriptors doctors used to quantify how serious the patient's condition was. Stable, good, serious, critical, and grave even combined with each other like "critical, but stable " were diabolically vague and noncommittal at best. Grave boded ill and brought to mind the image of a "one foot in the grave, might as well be both feet" qualifier that could never instill any kind of confidence or hope. Likely it was intended to bring such an image, but for the men who heard that associated with Billy's condition, it was a painful revelation.

Adding to the anxiety was word that Michael had gone missing. It was Rick who had been given the intel as it was clear that Casey was incapable of handling any more news that negatively-affected the already "damaged" team. Rick was more concerned that Casey would finally lose any remaining grip he had on his tenuous control. Still, they were needed back at headquarters to get read in on the details and difficult as it was to accept, Billy was beyond their ability to help and they had to concentrate on the latest blow to their team. With Valdez having escaped during the sniper attack and his known reputation for vicious acts of retribution, Michael was on borrowed time.

Blanke offered to keep an eye on Billy and to report any changes. Casey's and Rick's trust of Blanke was minimal, their opinion of him as a spy was even less and was one of incredulity that he had ever made any kind of career from the work, Casey, especially, held nothing more than contempt for his lack of expertise, but they knew he was a caring person and more importantly, knowing that someone was keeping an eye on Billy gave them a way to concentrate on directing their efforts towards finding Michael. Casey couldn't multitask his 100% as well as he would like to have people believe.

Blanke entered Billy's room, a deeply concerned yet seemingly full of purpose expression etched across his cherubic features. Any of the ODS observing him at that moment would have been confused and surprised because the Blanke they knew was, at best, bumbling, at worst, completely incompetent. He examined Billy's helpless repose then paused to carefully extract a hypodermic from his right jacket pocket. He looked around him, making sure that no one was observing him. He swiftly and with surprising deftness, plunged the needle into Billy's IV line, expressing the clear fluid into the saline coursing through the tubing and into Billy's arm. Once done, he pocketed back the syringe.

He then sat down in a chair beside the bed, letting the tension in his body release into it. He glanced at the monitors and was reassured that they hadn't changed for the worse.

It was after a few minutes that Billy began to stir, his head moving from side to side, his eyes fluttering open, soft moans coming from his hoarse throat. Blanke rose up immediately to try to catch Billy's gaze.

"Billy? Can you hear me?" He asked softly so as to not garner any attention from the nursing staff just down the hall.

Billy moaned again as he tried to zero in on Blanke's voice. After a few more moments, he locked on to the slowly clearing image of Blanke hovering over him.

"Blanke?" Billy queried, still unsure of his assessment.

"Yeh, yeh, how are you feeling?" He asked.

"Like I've been hit dead-on by a lorry," Billy rasped and groaned.

Blanke smiled meekly. It was nice to hear Billy making jokes. It gave Blanke a sense of normal. If Billy was joking, teasing or quoting Shakespeare, you knew his mind was sound and his sense of humor intact.

"Do you remember what happened?" Blanke continued to gently interrogate, testing Billy's recall.

Billy paused and Blanke could see that he was trying to access his memories, filtering and sorting through them.

"Mission was buggered. Casey...compromised...Sniper..." Billy reported back, the questioning tone in his voice revealing that he wasn't 100% certain he was remembering correctly.

"Yeh," Blanke confirmed. "That's what happened. You were shot. You almost died."

"It wouldn't be the first time," Billy teased, but he noted that Blanke had paled at recollecting Billy's brush with death.

Blanke acted the hapless buffoon, an agent at the dead end of, what appeared to everyone else, a lackluster career, but Billy knew the truth of it. Not only was Blanke not a fool, but he had been at the top his game over twenty years ago. Mistakes had been made, blame cast erroneously as was often the case and Blanke had been the chosen scapegoat. Billy understood that position all too well and just as it had been done to him, Blanke's career and credibility had been destroyed, his rise in the Agency thwarted in the wake of the acts of the true culprits, rogue agents who had possessed traitorous hearts. Billy had lived it himself. Once he had discovered the circumstances behind Blanke's fall from grace, Billy took it upon himself to not let Blanke's talent and experience go to waste, to not ostracize him as he had been by the British Secret Service and by his friends. So much so that Billy had entrusted Blanke with a secret he had not revealed to anyone else, not even to Michael, Casey and Rick. And Blanke had proven himself worthy to Billy. They had become comrades in arms, hiding behind the pretense of disrespect.

"That close, aye?" Billy said.

"That close," Blanke reiterated. "I think you forget how mortal you really are."

"How bad..." Billy asked as he slowly felt his mind gaining a firmer foothold on full consciousness.

Blanke swallowed hard, obviously trying to hold back his own emotional reaction to the seriousness of Billy's injury.

"Ah, right then, **that** bad as well," Billy had surmised.

"You almost bled out on the way here," Blanke said seriously at first then smiled again. "Casey 'convinced' the EMT to perform a field transfusion."

Billy couldn't help a shaky smile.

"I don't envy the poor sod going head to head with our human weapon," Billy said, his voice strengthening.

"Casey nearly lost it," Blanke revealed, solemn again. "He saved your life. You're going to owe him."

"Aye, my greatest fear come true that. Knew it was inevitable someday," Billy teased with a smile. "I knew that sod had a soft spot for me. He'll no doubt become insufferable knowing his blood is now coursing through my veins and will take it upon himself to remind me of it during physically trying times."

Blanke's smile widened and he snorted a chuckle.

"Speaking of 'coursing through your veins', how are you feeling now?" Blanke asked.

"The serum?" Billy replied.

"Yes," Blanke confirmed.

"It's working," he acknowledged. "Thank you."

Blanke demurred with a nod.

Billy sensed there was something Blanke was keeping from him. He was reassured that he hadn't lost his touch at reading tells.

"Something's wrong. What is it?"

"You need to let the serum do its job. You won't be any good-" Blanke evaded.

Billy then grew agitated, his senses heightening as the serum began working on his immune system as intended, healing him quickly if not fast enough for Billy's taste.

"Tell me, Blanke," Billy insisted.

Blanke stalled a bit longer then took in a breath.

"Michael's gone dark."

Billy closed his eyes in regret rather than in physical pain.

"Bloody hell," he said in frustration. "Valdez?"

"Into the wind. The sniper -"

"Was a ruse, a diversion for Valdez to slip away unnoticed," Billy finished for him, a look of blame on his face. "I have to find Michael."

Blanke placed a concerned hand on Billy's chest to stop his progression into a sitting position.

"Rick and Casey are being read in right now. You're in no shape -"

"It will have to be enough-"

"And how exactly are you going to explain your miraculous recovery from a sniper's bullet? Do I have to remind you that you almost bled out? You're risking raising questions. I won't even go into how it will look you just walking out of the hospital."

Billy laid back in his bed, still weak, but getting stronger. He knew Blanke was right, but it didn't make the situation tolerable for him. Blanke understood better than anyone how helpless Billy felt at that moment. He'd been there more times than he'd like to remember with long gone friends of his own.

"You don't have to tell me how much you need to help Michael. I know that the longer Michael stays dark, the worse the outcome. I want to help too, but..."

Billy relaxed at Blanke's admission. Sometimes the act that Blanke employed was too convincing. It was too easy to forget that Blanke was doing the ruse to protect Billy's true identity.

"I'm sorry. I'm being a selfish git. I sometimes forget that you're playing the fool Falstaff on my account, hampered by your facade, sacrificing your credibility in the process. I know you're not that fool and want to help save Michael as much as I do."

"You don't have to apologize. You gave me a purpose again. They were going to put me out to pasture where all old spies go to die. I didn't want to end up like Corwin."

"You are a far better man than Corwin ever could aspire. I will do everything in my power to defend you from that fate. I owe you more than I can ever repay. "

Blanke just nodded, uncomfortable with the praise.

"Let the serum do its job so you can help Michael. I'll get as much intel as I can for you."

Billy extended his hand in respect and Blanke took it with equal measure in return.

**ChaosChaosChaos**

The mission had been a disaster. Agents had been killed. They had been led into a trap by a duplicitous asset. It happened all too often despite all the efforts to prevent it: All the precautions had been taken; all the leads had been double checked and authenticated. It had been textbook.

Or so Billy thought.

All the tells had been confirmed. Not by Billy, but by his partner, Rhys McCollugh, a twenty year veteran who had taken Billy under his wing. To Billy's eyes, he had been the pillar of exemplary conduct, a role model who had molded Billy into the man he was. Rhys had ingrained into Billy the principles of loyalty both to Queen and Country and to one's mates.

Betrayal was the bitterest pill of all to swallow. It was worse than cyanide. If you were lucky, cyanide killed you, painfully, yes, but then it would be all over and done with.

Betrayal can be relived over and over again even when you didn't want it; in your dreams, in your waking existence, every chance it could invade your consciousness, your cells. It's pain that never ends.

Billy had been naive to believe in the system; in justice prevailing; in everyone around him playing by the same rules as he had; to trust that when things went horrifically awry, his mates would be there for him as he would have been for them; most of all, that he could trust his mentor.

It was his last mistake in MI6. It had cost him everything including his life.

Billy had died that day.

Correction. He should have died that day and almost wished he had.

He had also been reborn.

Billy had been shot five times. He had remembered the pooling blood building beneath him, the wet feeling, at first warm, then cooling quickly. He had remembered the spasmodic pain, the helpless ebb of unconsciousness.

Billy had remembered the pain in vivid blood curdling detail, pain that would even challenge the limits of Casey Malick.

And one more thing.

He had remembered who had killed him.

Billy had watched in shock and disappointment as his mentor pointed his gun at him.

"I'm truly sorry, lad. I have no choice," he'd said, looking truly solemn and full of regret.

Rhys then pressed the trigger. Five times.

After that, there was nothing but penetrating pressure, at first more stinging than painful, but it hadn't taken long for the sensation to change from stinging to piercing as the bullets ripped paths through his body.

Five pulls. Five bullets. Five hits.

Pain, gravity and the concentration he was trying to exert to focus on the man who had once been his teacher and who was now his assassin were warring for Billy's attention.

He then could no longer fight off his body's imperative need to be noticed. Blood loss was rapidly fogging his mind, blurring his vision, weakening his muscles, and gravity took advantage of all that by forcing him to drop to his knees. Fiery flashes of agony riddled throughout every part of him as he descended. He tasted the copper of his blood flooding into his mouth. Billy inwardly begged for swift unconsciousness to envelope him before the real torment overtook him.

They raced to the finish, the finish of him.

Death won the race in the end and the last thing Billy heard was his mentor, his hero, his killer yelling, "Agent down!"

**ChaosChaosChaos**

Waking up was the last thing Billy had expected.

Waking up in pain was not. He had been shot five times after all. He had remembered the bullets hitting him; he had remembered collapsing to the ground, dying. So why was he alive and in pain then?

He tried looking around him, but his arms and legs were restrained to a bed. He could only move his head and gaze around his surroundings.

He saw IVs entering veins in both his arms. He shivered where exposed skin met cool air and the tremors brought waves of pain. He groaned and fisted his hands to brace against the invisible assaults.

A voice filtered through his confusion and suffering but instead of comfort, it brought rage and fury.

"Lay still there, lad. They are trying to help you."

His killer: Rhys McCullough.

"Rhys," he spat out, his voice cracking with agony and venom. "You tried...to kill me, you bastard."

"I had to, mate. I'll explain later. Right now these fellas are trying to save you and more."

Billy, his expression still carved with hate, didn't understand how Rhys could act completely reassuring when Billy was feeling the worst torture he had ever experienced.

"Save me? And what do you...mean by more?" Billy asked just before he was awash in torment that he had never felt before. "GGGGOD! WWWHAT'S...HAPPENING...TO ME?"

Billy wailed like a wounded animal, screaming and panting intermixed within his cries as his body tensed against his restraints. If he had time to think as opposed to exerting all his energy to controlling the wave after wave of pain assaulting him, he would have understood why the restraints were necessary. If they weren't there, he would be thrashing against the onslaught, likely falling off the bed or worse, tearing the IVs in his arms out causing more damage.

"What the...bloody hell...are you doing to me?" Billy asked as he wailed again. He took another halting breath. "Is this...some kind of...new torture?"

"The pain can't be helped, I'm afraid, son -"

"D...don't call me...your son...you...betrayed me...you betrayed everything you believe in...my belief along with it...and...you SHOT me..." Billy uttered through gritted teeth and more moaning as his body continued to writhe and resist.

"I know you're angry at me now, but you'll see. I'm making it up to you. They're making you as good as new, better even. Course, there's always a price to pay -"

"Am I...your pound of...flesh, aye? Did you...bargain me for your betrayal?"

"No, no, nothing like that at all. Not everything's Shakespearean, lad. A little Mary Shelley in this case, perhaps, but you're a test, you see? If you live through this and I know you will, you'll be making history and helping others," Rhys said excitedly then quieted, giving Billy an expression that was similar to fatherly admiration. "You're the strongest lad I've ever had the pleasure of guiding, but your principles are being wasted at MI6. You can do so much more. You just need help. A little enhancement, you see?"

"Enhancement? You've gone...completely starkers, Rhys. Whatever you think...they're doing to me, it's torture, plain and simple. You're...being fooled, old man," Billy breathed through and grunted. "They're not saving me..."

"You'll see, Billy boy. You'll get through this. I know you will. I saw the potential in ya straight away. You were made for this."

Billy turned his head away and clenched his eyes closed. He couldn't listen to Rhys anymore. It was taking too much effort to fight off the blaze of misery flooding his body. He really didn't want to hear Rhys' explanations. That was more painful. Nothing he could say could rationalize his betrayal to Billy and the way he was feeling, he didn't believe he was going to live through whatever it was they were doing to him no matter the misguided faith that Rhys purported to have in him to survive. His only fear was that it would be a long road toward final release. Torture was like that in the proper skilled hands.

Just as he thought that, he let out another glass shattering scream.

**ChaosChaosChaos**

Billy startled awake. Another bad dream. They were a part of life since his "transformation". It was the best way to describe what had happened to him seven years ago. He hated to admit it, but Rhys had been right. He had survived and one could argue the blessings and curses tally of having lived through all that all they wanted, Billy could now look at it as miraculous and had come to appreciate his existence and the "enhancements" that had been the result. Rhys had known him well, knew that when all was said and done, Billy would do the right thing with what was given him.

The right thing: The principled thing.

_"We can't go back, lad. I'm a traitor now. And you? Everyone thinks you're dead, that I killed you."_

_Billy looked at him, shock and dismay intermingled with exhaustion and a deep to the bone pain on his face. _

_"You've ruined me," he said, despondency edging into his voice and body as it slacked more heavily on the bed. "And to what end? What did I survive for exactly?"_

_Billy felt completely wrung out. Whatever torture he had endured had ended for the moment, but he barely had the strength to talk, the residual pain keeping him from unconsciousness._

_"No, lad. I've given you new purpose. You'll come to see that, I know you will. It's your nature to see the good in everything. You're not tainted like I am. That's why it had to be you. You are unassailable. Only you could do this," Rhys said almost reverently. "You have the heart of a hero."_

Billy closed his eyes from the memory. He had used that moniker on Rick and felt that it was properly placed, that Rick truly deserved it. Billy was a poser, an imposter, created from what he believed was a science experiment born from torture; torture that had been brought to him through someone he had trusted and whom he had considered a hero. Billy was no hero and to his mind, he never would be. He was just a deeply flawed and damaged man seeking redemption. He had more than miles to go before he could even claim any of it.

**ChaosChaosChaos**

Billy was feeling much better. The serum was working its magic quickly and though he felt tired, he knew that he had healed enough. Blanke had been right. There was nothing he could do for Michael until he had recovered as fully as he could from his injury first. There would be achiness that would eventually fade, but he had learned to ignore and overcome the side effects.

He would need Blanke's help to escape and had texted him to bring the necessary tools to deceive long enough to make that escape. Waiting was as good a torture as any other for him. Billy was wired with anxiety; the need to get to Michael was electric in his nerves.

Blanke then arrived, armed with a bag.

"Did you bring the device? Time is of the essence if I am to have enough lead-time ahead of Casey and Rick. You can debrief me on the way to my storage facility."

Blanke gave him a look of incredulity.

"You're serious?"

"I've healed well enough to move. The serum will continue to work and more in concert with my immune system to heal me further. Why the hesitancy? We've done this before."

"Yes, for small periods of time where you could come back with no one the wiser, but not as a way to elude suspicion long term. Your disappearance will be hard to explain away."

Billy sighed.

"I know, but it can't be helped. Perhaps it's time I cease hiding behind my imaginary cowl and reveal all. Michael is more important. The longer Valdez has him, the chances of his survival grow dim. I cannot let that happen, Blanke. Damn it all to hell if Michael dies on my watch. I will not sacrifice any of you to protect my anonymity."

Blanke listened with profound respect. He had always felt that of the four ODS members, Billy had been the most compassionate especially to his very specific plight and he had become an unexpected ally to keeping him active and useful in the Agency, if covertly. Blanke thought that appropriate somehow. He didn't do the work for the credit or for the glory. With the addition of Rick, the two men had become the conscience of the group. He had known Casey and Michael long before Billy or Rick had come into the picture. He had watched their rise through the Agency ranks, especially Michael. Blanke had witnessed the evolution of the ODS from the time of Higgins and Ray Bishop to the days when Carson Simms was a part of the foursome. Billy had been an unlikely import from his exile in the British Secret Service, but when Simms had been presumed killed, it had been Billy who had buoyed Casey and Michael past the dark abyss of the loss at the expense of his own grief. Billy was no longer an outsider.

Billy had seemed secretive about his past, joking about how facts dealing with his exile were sealed under Queen and Country, but when Billy had discovered more fully Blanke's painful ostracism in an after hours, away from prying eyes moment, Billy had reached out to him with sincere comradeship. He had confided his own deportation from his home government without revealing relevant details. Though he had played along with the hazing in the company of the others, he had made it clear to Blanke that he should never feel isolated, that Billy understood all too well.

Respect was not always necessary to do the work, but trust was non-negotiable especially when it came to teamwork. You were entrusting your life to someone else and even more importantly, someone else was entrusting you with their life. Once a trust was broken, everything was revoked and you couldn't build that implicit trust back. A spy without that was worse than one without a country and a spy wrongly accused was just as doomed. Blanke knew his trust had been violated and because of the betrayal of fellow agents and the lies told by them, no one would ever place their lives into Blanke's hands again, making doing missions or any kind of productive spy work virtually impossible. Blanke thought of retiring and was at a low point when Billy had approached him.

_Billy had done his due-diligence, as all good spies must when preparing for a mission only this one was purely personal. _

_Alan Blanke had been lurking around the Agency and the ODS since the day Billy had arrived. Michael and Casey had been treating him with their usual bastardly disregard for anyone they felt was below their stature. They had given him a cliff notes version of Blanke's "downfall" and had often wondered why he stayed around. They had even joked that of all the people they had wished would turn, they had wished that it would be Blanke versus the recent discovery of Corwin's bitter fall from grace. He would then be out of their hair._

_Billy was a curious animal. He had to be to develop the kinds of ruses and roleplay that were his forte. Details were vital to crafting not only the exact character, but to building the foundation of trust necessary to entice an asset to their side or to capture a traitor. So using his charm, he was able to obtain Blanke's personnel file. As he read the finer and, to Billy's mind, more relevant aspects of what had happened to Blanke, he felt a kinship with him; a fellow proverbial spy left out in the cold, as the cliche went. He had resolved to mend fences as best as he could and to perhaps go one-step further._

_Billy had a hard time convincing Blanke to have a drink with him at a local pub that Billy had called his own. It was away from the prying eyes of other agents and the Agency at large. Billy could relax there, escape there, be himself there, whatever that __identity__ was when he had walked in. He understood Blanke's distrust all too intimately. Who could blame him after all that he had been subjected to? _

_Being suspicious was practically a job requirement. It was a necessary evil for survival. Just as implicit trust was vital with your comrades in arms, so was suspicion towards just about anything and anyone else. It was the darker flipside of the work. Blanke's knee-jerk suspicion had been forged from something far more damaging and again, Billy could relate to it._

"_You're not an easy man to share a pint with, mate," Billy teased._

"_I'm sorry." Blanke said almost timidly and it hurt Billy to see that the level of suspicion and distrust ran much deeper than he had anticipated._

"_No need to __apologize__. You have every right to be distrustful, after all, I am a part of the ODS and I know that we haven't exactly nurtured an environment of comradeship. It is my aim to change that here and now."_

_Blanke looked at him, doubt deeply seeded in his stare. Billy wondered if he, too, had once __harbored__ that same, empty stare, revealing more than he had intended during his tenure as an exile. He certainly felt that isolation without a doubt._

"_Why are you bothering? I don't have anything you can use or need. Haven't Michael and Casey 'enlightened' you about me?" Blanke said bitterness in his voice. "Just you associating with me could make your life a living hell with them."_

"_Aye, they have proffered their prejudicial points of view, but I prefer to make my own judgments. It is an essential process I must exercise as judging from others' views can be dangerous and foolhardy."_

_Something in Blanke ticked as he stiffened with the comment. Billy sensed the tell and once again, knew it well. His words were hitting the expected responses in Blanke and like a doctor, Billy's diagnosis was clear and more importantly, he __empathized__ completely. _

"_As for what I hope to gain by this social interaction, it is just your friendship I seek."_

_Blanke's expression was a mix of shock and dismissiveness._

"_Friends? Look, Billy, if this is just another way to haze me or to pass muster with Michael and Casey, then you can report back to them saying mission accomplished, all right?" Blanke said angrily and moved to leap off of his stool to exit, but Billy gently grabbed his arm to stop his forward momentum._

_Billy closed his eyes and shoot his head in chastisement at his blunder. Of course Blanke would question his intentions. He had no other basis to think otherwise. Billy had played along with Michael's and Casey's taunts and had delivered his own scathing rebukes as well so why should Blanke believe that this overture was anything more than continued harassment?_

"_Far from that, Blanke. My apologies, I've bloody bollixed this up, haven't I? You're quite right to question my intentions, almost reflex in our line of work, isn't it? But I assure you mine is an earnest offer of friendship and if you'll hear me out, I can explain why there is no ulterior motive to my actions," Billy requested._

_When Blanke glared at Billy, he was surprised to find no deception on his face so he took a breath, calmed and repositioned himself back onto the bar stool. _

"_Thank you," Billy said and he couldn't help but be inwardly amused by Blanke's reaction. _

"_To continue on honesty's land-mined path, I must tell you that I have taken the liberty of educating myself about your circumstances. As I said, much as I respect Michael for his ability to craft a mission, he is a self-admitted paranoid bastard and I don't always agree with his perspective. As for Casey, I would think my hesitation to take any words of his to heart would be self-explanatory." _

_Instead of smiling at the humorous dig, Blanke just returned to his drink and stared into the brown liquid in the glass._

"_So, what conclusions did you make? The same ones everyone else has? That I screwed up?" Blanke said, resignation and the expectation of being denigrated by yet another __agent__ in his voice._

_Billy heard it and it emboldened him to rectify the sorrow in Blanke's voice. He knew the sound of that sorrow intimately; he'd had that resignation in his own voice; he understood the pain of betrayal by people you thought were your friends, your mentor. _

"_No, the conclusion I made was completely my own and what I have deduced is that you were wronged and paid the price for lesser and corrupt agents. I understand what that feels like," Billy said, his own resignation in his voice._

_Blanke picked up on it. He turned and faced Billy. He then saw it in Billy's eyes; saw the raw honesty as well as the anguish that Blanke __recognized__ all too well. The tension left his body. Billy sensed the breakthrough as well and knew he had found his opening._

"_Through a voluntarily given, no strings attached offer of friendship, I am asking for your implicit trust. I know I have neither earned it nor do I claim that you should offer it without some proof, but the proof that I'm willing to provide requires that trust. The proverbial __Catch__ 22, as it were. But you see, I also consider myself a pretty good judge of character, have to be to do what I do and with just a few miscalculations in my less than illustrious career..." Billy stalled for a few seconds recalling those mistakes in __judgment__; ones that had cost him his career, his friendships and even his life. He then shook myself back to the present mission at hand. "I've been rather spot on."_

_Billy found his smile again, thinking of Rick and how he had spotted his hero's heart. "I'm asking for your trust knowing that you are a man for whom I can reveal a truth that if anyone else knew it, I would be judged harshly yet again, perhaps even face something worse than deportation. I am willing to risk that, if you can suspend your __judgment__."_

_Blanke's initial anger and resentment dissipated and a sense of relief replaced it for the first time since he had been __ostracized__. It felt liberating not to have to either defend himself or as he had begun doing the last few years, resigning himself to the ridicule, just taking the abuse for the privilege of staying at the __Company__. Something in Billy's tone of voice told him that he wasn't going to __jeopardize__ him; that he wasn't luring him into a trap to cap off an already miserable existence. Blanke had been good at reading people in the past as well. He was beyond rusty with all of his skills, but it didn't take a superior gift for observation to discern Billy's sincerity. It was in the slight pleading he had heard in his voice when he had asked Blanke to suspend his __judgment__. It was as if he was aching to reveal whatever this __secret__ was to him, as if by sharing it, it would unburden him. Blanke hadn't been treated with that kind of compassion and trust in a long time and he had to admit, it made his answer easy yet for a minute, he second guessed himself and thought maybe he was surrendering it too easily, but he didn't care._

"_I can do that," he said without a hint of uncertainty._

_Billy let go of the breath he hadn't noticed that he was holding, waiting for Blanke's answer._

"_Brilliant. Right, let's be off then," Billy declared, mostly feeling like he was making the right decision in revealing his __secret__ to Blanke, but deep down, he would always fear discovery and betrayal. He thought that Blanke would probably admit to that same fear. It's something that never completely leaves you. It's a gaping hole that never heals over and can never be filled no matter how much good you do. That fear would always be an involuntary knee-jerk reflex for the both of them. Perhaps that made their partnership all the more fated._

**TBC. Thanks for reading.**


	3. Chapter 3

**Secret ****Identity**

**A completely, fanciful story without any logic whatsoever so fair warning to suspend your disbelief and just let your imagination take over. It came as inspiration from watching too many Man of Steel interviews.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Chaos**

**Chapter 3:**

Billy and Blanke had slipped out of the hospital stealthily with Billy disguised as a hospital professional in scrubs. Still healing, he was struggling to keep up a little, but he girded through his discomfort, knowing that time was of the essence to save Michael.

They had placed a device that Billy had cobbled together which when the leads to all of the various vital statistics machinery are connected to it, it would fool the nurses monitoring at their stations into believing that Billy was still there until they did a bed check and physically discovered that Billy had gone. They had to hope that they will have gotten a good head start by then.

Blanke had parked the car near the back entrance and quickly climbed into the driver side while Billy sat in the back seat. A medical bag was there and he opened it. He pulled out another syringe. Blanke noticed.

"You shouldn't take another dose until we at least get to the storage facility. You're pushing your tolerances," he warned.

Billy had to admit it was nice to hear someone so concerned for his health. Until he had decided to include Blanke in his secret life, he was constantly pushing the tolerances of his healing so that he could recover more quickly. He had come close to dying both from over medicating with the serum and from life threatening wounds he had ignored for too long. Foolhardy was his middle name. Still, the choice of speeding up the healing was necessary.

"I may never reach the tolerances of our human weapon, but it's necessary that I boost the healing. I need to be as close to full strength as I can when I confront and challenge Valdez. I know him. Any weakness and he will use it against me and against Michael."

Blanke made no comment as he drove out, but the concern was evident in his expression.

Billy gave himself the second injection then laid back to let the serum flow into him.

"Has there been any word on their locations?" Billy asked, fatigue in his voice that he couldn't suppress. 

"None, but Casey is frantic and drilling people hard. I'm surprised he hasn't punched a wall yet," Blanke reported with a bit of amusement in his voice then it became more somber. "Rick is keeping it together, but just barely. The kid is doing everything procedurally possible, but I can tell that he's cracking under the pressure." 

Billy, too, had to smile at the image of Casey's barely controlled mania.

"I can well imagine Casey's control slipping. I only wish I could see it for myself," Billy said then closed his eyes both in a twinge of pain and sympathy. "As for Rick, I regret that he's facing this without some kind of grounding force. Casey is a man of action, but a man of comfort, he will never be, especially when one of his own is in peril. I fear that they are facing the worst possible scenario for them both for different reasons. I hope that once we -"

Suddenly, Billy's words were cut off by the ringing of his cell phone. It gave Billy an unexpected chill. No one would call him. Casey and Rick knew he was in hospital, the Agency as well. Billy looked at the screen and it said "Blocked call". He swiped to answer it and a rush of recognition hit him.

"Rhys?" He said. 

Blanke heard the pain in Billy's voice that wasn't a part of his injury. It worried him, but he had to concentrate on the road and getting to the storage facility.

"Ah, knew that psychic ability would come in handy," Rhys taunted, his voice no longer harboring the jovial lilt it had once possessed.

"Where's Michael?" Billy asked, anger bubbling to the surface, his fatigue fading.

"There you go, lad, straight to the point. Good on you. I knew you were the right guinea pig."

"Valdez is dead, isn't he?" Billy said. 

**ChaosChaosChaos**

Rhys was the only other person who knew about his transformation. He had been the one who had offered him up to the traitorous scientists so that they could test their serum on him. If he survived, then they could try it on another person. Rhys. That was his reward for not only sacrificing Queen and Country, but for bringing a badly wounded, likely dying, Billy to use as a lab rat. Since Rhys had shot him, everyone believed he was dead and no one would miss him if he had died during the experiment. What the torturers had underestimated was Billy's "acting ability". Performing all those Shakespearean tragedies had served him well. Billy's ruse of being less than optimum after surviving the torturous "treatments" had fooled everyone enough that they had released the restraints, believing Billy was too weak to escape. It also led them to think that the experiment might have been failing, that Billy would die from it.

The surprise for Billy was that he was actually feeling better. Whatever they had given him was making him recover from his wounds in a matter of hours. Once the horrific pain stopped, he began to feel his strength returning. Billy knew he had to get out of there, but he was also a man without reinforcements so he had to bide his time. Two days later, he had waited for nightfall and though he was still a little weak, he had marveled that he had gone from dying by five bullet wounds to skulking for an escape. 

Betrayal cut both ways and it was Billy's turn to rationalize ending a career; a life; his own and his mentor's. 

And there was Rhys's voice, a ghost from his past, re-emerging from the ashes of a funeral pyre; Billy's pyre. But the Rhys he was talking to wasn't the Rhys who had had the misguided belief that he was helping Billy, making him better. No, this Rhys was the result of a transformation gone horribly awry. It wasn't something Billy knew from observation, it had happened after his escape. There just was a distinct, icy cold, dark sensation that was coming through the phone that Billy felt as if it was touching him directly. Another asset gleaned from the experiment: Psychic abilities that went beyond mere vibrations, simple transient feelings, but that manifested in physical forms through the sense of touch.

"If you harm Michael, Rhys, so help me I will end you," Billy threatened. 

Rhys laughed maniacally.

"I think you know I haven't, lad. You know very well that the powers you possess allow those who are closest to you to weave their psychic tethers to ya so that you can feel what they're feeling. You may be hurting from your wound, but your guvner's pain would be distinct. You'd know the difference."

Billy wasn't surprised that Rhys had shot him. He closed his eyes in frustration. Rhys knew everything about him. There were no secrets from him and that frightened Billy. He knew he would have to defeat Rhys, perhaps die trying as he was the only one who stood a chance of doing it, but Rhys's intimate knowledge of him could play against him.

"You also know that the tables can be turned against ya. I could use his pain, yeh? Make you feel it all too keenly, as if you were the one experiencing it. You're not like me, you see? You feel too much for others. It's your greatest weakness, your kryptonite, yeh? And I plan to make you see how pathetic that weakness is for a man of your abilities."

"Tell me where you are and let's just test that shall we, aye?" Billy uttered more vengefully confident in his voice that he really believed at that moment.

Billy hissed and grunted as a growing stabbing pain ripped into his brain, with it an image of a warehouse, of Michael tied to a chair unconscious, and of an address. 

"Two can play at this game, mate. Only you'll find that I'm a right expert at it. Took me the seven years we've been apart to gain that expertise, to hone my skills, to build on the vengeance I wanted to exact. To think I let them waste this formulation on a goodie goodie like yourself. You'd be amazed at how hate can amplify these abilities." 

Billy clenched his eyes closed as his face contorted again. He had to brace against a flood of images rushing into him like flying daggers slicing into every nerve of his body. His hand gripped against the hand rest so hard, his knuckles went white.

"You...killed them...all of them," he said in breathless and hushed shock. "Burned the building, destroyed everything."

Billy sucked in air as he gasped. 

"You...tortured them…" Billy uttered.

"Isn't that what you accused them of doing to you? I would think you'd appreciate the retribution."

The razor sharp cuts dulled into an ache and Billy exhaled with what he knew was temporary relief. 

"You intend to be the only one," he declared without surprise or shock at Rhys's intentions. 

"Yeh, well, can't have everyone possessing these gifts, now can we, mate?" Rhys taunted. "What would be the fun in that? Even you can see the practicality in that." 

The cold declaration gave Billy an icy shiver. 

"Get here as soon as you can, lad. I can't promise your guvner's going to stay unharmed for long."

Rhys then hung up. Billy felt exhausted as if talking to him had taxed and depleted all his energy. Blanke was concerned.

"Billy? Are you all right?"

Billy grimaced as he tried to focus back from the images he had seen. 

"7000 North Emerson, Blanke. Hurry. Michael has very little time left. I fear he's in the hands of a madman. One I helped create."

Billy then closed his eyes to rest for as long as he could, letting the serum he had just injected work it's way through his body. Whatever healing took place would have to be enough.

When they had arrived, Billy sat up and perched himself on the edge of the back seat. He placed a hand on Blanke's shoulder.

"It is here where we must part ways, my friend," Billy said with sincere warmth of friendship. "You have to get Casey and Rick to this location. Most importantly, all of you must get Michael safely away."

"What? No, you can't face this guy alone."

"On the contrary, not to overstate my abilities, I am the only person who can face Rhys without significant injury. He is the dark side of what was done to me."

"But no one will believe me if I call in for backup, least of all Casey and Rick." 

Billy heard the uncertainty and the fear of failure in Blanke's voice and it pained him to put such a weight of responsibility on his shoulders, the wounds of being disparaged still so fresh, but Michael's life was at stake.

"You can do this," Billy encouraged with the very same words and tone he had used to boost Rick. "It's time you came into your own, face your greatest fear and become one with the Agency again. In my estimation, you have more than earned your place having assisted me in my quest these past few years. Sancho Panza to my Don Quixote, as it were."

Billy had a shaky, but wistful smile on his face. "There were desolate days when I felt that all I was doing was tipping at windmills, that I was more Frankenstein's monster than...well, anyone or anything else normal. It was difficult keep on task at times, to stay human, to resist giving into the dark veil that has befallen Rhys. I won't lie to you. I have fenced with that devil more than once."

Blanke listened with sympathy and understanding as he drove. He would take the occasional glance in the rear view mirror to see Billy's expression. In the past, he had sometimes caught the characteristic glimmer in Billy's eyes dim when he confided in him the evolution of how he came to the powers he now possessed. As he captured a glimpse of Billy at that moment, he saw it again, the playful dance of light that made Billy the optimist of the ODS, the compassionate cohort to Blanke, dimmed again. What gave Blanke a sense of fear was how much dimmer it seemed from any other time he had spotted it.

He had seen Billy both jovial and in the private times away from the others, dejected, but never defeated. Billy had battled back from being so badly injured that death seemed merciful with an unparalleled will to live. Yes, the serum helped, but there was a point where surviving was more than about healing organs, that living was much more than a beating heart or inhalations by the lungs. It was about a spirit so strong, so bonded to life that defying the odds was also about demonstrating that true belief in one's purpose was just as important a factor as the rest.

What Blanke spied in that split second glance in the rear view now was a resignation that he thought was inconceivable to associate with Billy. As if facing Rys, once a friend, a mentor, would be his last stand. In that moment, Blanke actually inwardly cursed the return of his spy instincts because knowing Billy as long as he had, having gone through so much with him, he knew he wasn't imagining what he was detecting. The painful part was realizing that he was helpless to do anything about it. He knew that he wouldn't be able to convince Billy to walk away, to not face Rhys to save himself or even to wait until reinforcements arrived first. It was against Billy's very nature to do those things especially when someone else's life was potentially forfeit and maybe even more so because it was Michael's life at risk. That, Blanke knew, hadn't been forged by the torturous transformation Billy had gone through, that content of character was already there in Billy.

Then as if Billy was reading his musings, he finished his thought in concert with Blanke's.

"Then I'd remind myself that I survived all that was done to me for a reason. In a way, whatever they pumped into me changed me, enhanced me not only in obvious ways, but in ways I had never expected," Billy continued. "Just when I thought I was done for, wished for it, truth be told, my purpose was renewed. As my beloved countryman Winston once said, 'if you're going through hell, keep going' and so I did and I never looked back."

Billy patted Blanke on the shoulder. He took another glimpse in the rear view and the glimmer was back in place.

"But no man's an island, Blanke and I knew that when I chose you to share my secret, you wouldn't let me down and you haven't. Thank you for sticking by me. For foregoing your identity to feign a secret one of your own in order to protect mine. I'll be forever in your debt for that."

Blanke felt Billy's confidence and was moved by it, but his spy sense was also still picking up a touch of sadness in his voice.

"Now, it is your time to be who you really are, to rid yourself of your secret identity. In the end, it's done more harm than good and doesn't do you justice. As I face Rhys, I need to know that I've given you the opportunity to be rid of it for good. You won't need it anymore. Just as I will no longer need to harbor the ruse I've been feigning for lo these many years. Talk to Rick, his mind and heart are open. He will believe you. Tell him to trust you and he will. The time has come to shed your Falstaff mask and become the hero I know you are."

"What if you need help in there? I can't leave you to face that lunatic alone."

"Much as I appreciate it, mate, what I need most from you is to ensure in any way you can that everyone escapes unharmed, especially Michael. Nothing is as paramount to me than that. You will be helping me where I need it most."

Blanke was struck wordless, unable to come up with a proper argument.

"It has been an honor to serve with you," Billy said, a look of regret that Blanke had caught in the rearview mirror. 

He stiffened. The tone in Billy's voice was laced both with pride, that sense of resignation he had noted before and, what brought the most fear, finality.

"I'll see you later," Blanke gently insisted, his voice trembling with renewed apprehension as well as a commitment to make sure they did see each other again.

Billy felt Blanke's shoulder muscles constrict beneath his gentle grip and recognized that he had sensed something off with Billy, that a decision had been made. Billy had to reassure him even if he didn't believe it. Blanke deserved to be left with the hope that the outcome of his confrontation with Rhys would end with Rhys captured and Billy alive and in once piece. It would be the performance of his life both literally and figuratively.

"Of course, mate," Billy said as he squeezed Blanke's shoulder, hoping the gesture would translate convincingly. "With you and the others having my back, I fear nothing and all will be well." 

Billy then stepped out of the car. Blanke watched him walk towards the warehouse for a moment. He hadn't experienced such concern for a fellow agent, let alone for a human being in a long time. It had been replaced by resentment, empty loyalty and deep distrust. They had overshadowed his senses for so long, he had ceased to pick up on true selflessness and heroism. Billy had renewed all that in him and as he watched him walk towards a bitter and crazed adversary alone, despite all of Billy's abilities and Blanke's shortcomings, he found it difficult to push back the need to be by Billy's side. Billy didn't need him, but Blanke had enjoyed being needed, being depended on. He then took out his phone and dialed Rick's cell. He had to help Billy in the only way he could at that moment.

"Hello?" Rick said, his voice harried and panicked.

"Rick, I need your help," Blanke said, his voice no longer containing the buffoonish tone he had manufactured for his "cover". 

"Blanke? What are you doing calling me? I don't have time -"

"It's Billy," he said, his tone even, but struggling to stay that way.

"What about him? He's in the hospital in a coma. You're wasting my time-" Rick said, his voice rising in anger at having to entertain Blanke.

"Rick, please listen to me," Blanke said, trying to communicate as deliberately as possible so that Rick wouldn't detect any hint of the Blanke he knew and take what he was going to say next seriously. 

Rick calmed a little as he heard Blanke's voice over the phone. There was something about it. His instincts were not only telling him that the Blanke he was hearing was different from the man he felt more pity than respect for, but that there was something else in his voice...something that raised the hairs on the back of his neck.

"Okay, what is it?" Rick said, his voice calming.

"I need you to put aside your opinion of me right now and know that I am telling you the truth, that I am begging you to trust me this once because I need your help. More importantly, Billy needs your help. Both you and Casey," he inhaled deeply to keep his own calm in his voice.

Rick took notice.

"I'm listening, Blanke."

Relief washed over Blanke as he swallowed his past and ventured toward a new beginning, a new start. It felt hollow in light of Billy's face-off, like it was at Billy's expense, but he knew he had to trudge onward for Billy's sake.

"Billy isn't in the hospital. I can't explain everything now, but I need you and Casey to head to 7000 North Emerson. Billy is there. So am I…" Blanke swallowed the bile back in his throat dreading to say the next words. "Valdez is dead. Michael is being held captive here and Billy's gone in to face the kidnapper."

"What? How?" Rick had so many questions.

"Trust me, Rick, please. Just get here as soon as you can with reinforcements," Blanke said as he suddenly felt like the man he once was, the agent who had a long future ahead of him, the confidence of a seasoned professional in the business returning if ever so slowly. He only wished it hadn't come at the worst possible time. "I don't think Michael and Billy have much time." 

The next thing he heard was "We're on our way" and Rick hanging up his phone.

Blanke pocketed his phone and waited. He confirmed that his gun was in its holster. He hadn't liked the tone he had heard in Billy's voice and that preyed upon him as he waited.

**TBC. Thanks for reading.**


End file.
